The Monster Under the Bed
by BeyondTheSea13
Summary: When a case takes a personal turn for Mike, the three-year hunt for a serial killer becomes a race to save a young girl's life.
1. The End in the Beginning

AN: Hey guys. So, this fic begins in June 2012, two years after the end of the show and is written using, what I like to call, Canon B, which means it's based off what we know would have happened in the twenty-first season (as opposed to Canon A, where Connie moves to LA and Mike ends up with the SVU).

Also, while I am certainly not new to writing fanfiction, this is my first _Law & Order_ fic and my second casefic. I'm not telling you to be gentle; please, feel free to rip me to shreds if you feel so inclined, as long as it's constructive. I'm just trying to provide some context for where I am right now.

* * *

The first thing thought that entered Mike's mind when he glanced at Connie was that she was not having a good time. Ever since her miscarriage a year and a half ago, she had seemed dejected. Her spirits were slowly improving, and lately, Mike had seen more and more of the woman he'd worked with those first three years, but he could tell that the pregnancy had given her a brief glimpse into the life she hadn't known she wanted, and the miscarriage had cruelly snatched it away just as she was getting used to the idea. Initially, he'd thought that inviting her to dinner with his visiting relatives seemed like a good way to get her out of the office without inviting alcohol into the equation. In hindsight, bringing her to dinner with his brother's three children while she was still struggling with the idea that she might never have any of her own seemed stupid and insensitive. He sighed and took in the rest of the table. His brother was playing tic-tac-toe with his niece on a placemat while his sister-in-law attempted to break up an argument between his nephews over a blue crayon. Yes, it was time for this dinner to end.

He turned to Connie. "Are you about ready to head out?"

She tried to hide her relief, but he could see it wash over her face. "Yeah, it's getting late." It was a lame excuse. It was only seven-thirty.

David looked up from the placemat. "You guys going back to work?"

"No," Mike replied firmly, glancing sidelong at Connie. "We're done for the day." A couple of weeks ago, he'd coming in at eight to discover that Connie had not left the previous evening. It was another thing that had changed a year and a half ago. She almost seemed obsessed with her work. Mike had to admit that the job required a high level of commitment, but she was routinely staying at the office past midnight and appearing the next morning before the sun, and that behavior did not seem to be rectifying itself. Maybe it was her way of coping, and Mike was all for that. She needed to cope. On the other hand, she also needed to sleep. "Come on," he said, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up. "I'll get the check." She'd just spent nearly an hour trying to look like she was enjoying herself for his sake. It was really the least he could do. He waved goodbye to his nephews and niece as they turned to leave. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Bye, Uncle Mike," he heard his niece, Elizabeth, call. The boys were still preoccupied who would be using the blue crayon first.

"I'm sorry," Mike stated as he and Connie walked out onto the sidewalk. "In hindsight, that was ill-planned."

She smiled sadly, "You had good intentions."

"Thanks for being such a good sport," he replied.

He heard her sigh next to him. "Listen, Mike," she hesitated. "I know you've felt responsible for my well-being for the past eighteen months." She paused again, collecting her thoughts. "I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done, but I want you to know that you don't have an obligation to me. A year and a half is a long time to be looking out for someone you really don't have any responsibility for."

He thought back to the night of the miscarriage, getting her phone call, taking her to the hospital. He remembered picking her up from bars all over Manhattan, and even one in Brooklyn, more than once a week over the next few months. There had been one particularly close call where she'd already been unconscious when he arrived. They'd been fighting an uphill battle, that much was certain. "Connie…" he struggled to find the right words. "You're my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You should know that by now."

"I do," Connie answered. "The sentiment is mutual. You were there for me when I really didn't have anyone else." Mike considered the truth in that statement. It had taken her a week to call her mother and tell her about the pregnancy, and her fears had been validated. Months later, she'd told him in one of her drunken hazes that she'd been told by both her mother and her brother not to return home to Los Angeles. If he'd only known sooner, when it mattered, not that it still didn't. The loss of the baby didn't change the fact that the pregnancy had not only been out of wedlock, but with a complete stranger. As far as Mike knew, Connie would still be spending her holidays alone from now on. Mike knew how that was. Her sister had sent a card on her birthday though, her only card this year, but at least it was something. "But how can you live your own life when you're spending so much energy looking after me? When do you have time to do the things you want to do?"

He wanted to tell her that he could hardly imagine his life without her at this point, but he reminded himself that he was, in fact, her boss, and, while lines had obviously been crossed in the past months, that sort of declaration was highly inappropriate and probably grounds for a sexual harassment suit, not that he expected her to sue him. He would probably only receive a reproachful glance and a reminder that they worked together, but he was not keen to put her in that position, nonetheless, so instead he opted for, "Oh, I'm easy to keep happy. Just get me to a White Sox game once a season and I'm good for another year." He looked over at her. Her expression was skeptical. "Connie, if I was your brother or your husband, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

"No," Connie replied. "But, Mike, you know that's different."

"Right," Mike answered. "We spend more time together than brother and sister or husband and wife."

"You turned down that promotion last year," she pointed out. "To sex crimes. I know your reason was just an excuse. Half their cases are homicides anyway. I know you stayed for me."

Mike sighed. "Connie, trust me, if I hadn't thought it was worth it to stay, I wouldn't have. If there's one thing I've never been accused of, it's lacking ambition."

To his relief, Connie seemed to accept that response. She didn't press the matter, at least. "So, why didn't I know you had a brother?"

"He's my half-brother, technically," Mike answered, happy to talk about something that didn't have the potential to push him into a corner. "You know my parents got divorced when I was ten. Well, my dad moved to Seattle, got remarried, and had David."

"I thought you didn't see your dad a lot after the divorce," Connie replied. "How did the two you get so close."

"I didn't see much of my dad," Mike confirmed. "He only visited when one of his flights had a layover in Boston. I didn't even meet David until his funeral. He was thirteen, I was twenty-five. I don't know, he kind of latched on to me after that. I'd just graduated from law school, and I was living in New York. He'd call me every week. His mother explained to me once that he used to get weekly calls from my dad, wherever he was in the world. I guess the fact that he was still married to David's mom counted for something. I only got calls on my birthday and Christmas. Most of the people I met at the funeral weren't even aware he had another son." He realized his tone was bitterer than he'd intended. He looked over at Connie just as she held out her arm to stop him. Before he knew what was happening, she was pulling him into a hug. He returned it awkwardly, trying to pretend that this was not something he'd been waiting years for. Did that sound to desperate, that he'd been hoping for years for something as simple as a hug? Though, he realized as they were jostled by passers-by, this was not exactly how he had imagined it.

"What was that for?" he asked when Connie finally let him go.

She shrugged. "I just… I know what it's like to grow up without a father in the picture, remember?" He certainly did. It was an interesting tidbit that she'd shared with him one morning, the morning after he'd carried her from that downtown bar unconscious. She'd mentioned her father's profession to him once, or Jack had, he couldn't exactly remember, and he'd naturally assumed she knew from firsthand experience. It had been surprising to discover that all the information she had about the man, she'd picked up from her mother or her siblings. "You just sounded like you could use one. That was okay right?"

"Of course it was," Mike rushed to assure her. "It was just surprising. That's all."

"Oh," Connie replied. "Okay, good." She smiled and began to walk again.

They ambled along in comfortable silence for several minutes, and Mike took the opportunity to consider what had just happened. It had seemed like a gesture of kindness or friendship on the surface, but Mike had to wonder, given his bias, if there had been anything deeper, any less innocent intentions, behind the action. Probably not, he reasoned. He was being stupid. God, he was a forty-eight-year-old assistant district attorney. Why did he feel like he was in high school again? _Probably because you're accompanying a gorgeous and intelligent woman, who is thirteen years your junior and just initiated the most intimate physical contact the two of you have ever had, idiot._ Mike shook the voice from his head as they approached Connie's apartment building. "Here we are."

"Yep," Connie replied. She glanced at the door before looking back at Mike. "Listen, maybe it wasn't the best idea, but thanks for inviting me," she said. "I know you had my best interests at heart."

"I always try to," Mike answered. It was a true statement, truer than she probably knew. Half the reason he hadn't made a move and would continue to hold off was because of the repercussion an affair could have on her very promising career. Long gone were the days when he was willing to, as Connie had so eloquently put it five years ago, pimp her out to a jury, for instance. Holding himself personally responsible for her well-being had caused her to pass up work as the most important thing in his life. Their relationship had grown, especially in the last two years. They'd been through a lot together. He was sure David had noticed at dinner, and he was expecting a phone call asking for details later that night. David took a personal interest in anything that implied Mike might actually have a life outside the office, and the possibility of romance was high up on that list.

"I appreciate it," she took his hand and squeezed before dropping it. It was a gesture they'd perfected for when they wanted to convey an emotion stronger than they could put into words. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning," she said, beginning to back towards the door to her building.

"Tomorrow," Mike agreed, waving. He had just watched her disappear through the door when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his breast pocket and looked at the screen. Speak of the devil.

"David," he greeted. "I wasn't expecting your call until later. He you even gotten back to your hotel yet?" He started back down the block toward the nearest subway station.

"We're still at the restaurant. Listen, Mike," David's voice was panicked and caught Mike completely off guard. "We can't find Elizabeth anywhere. She vanished."

* * *

AN: Just a couple of things. First off, my pet peeve is when characters are written really out of character, so I feel like I should address this. I'm well aware that Mike and Connie probably seem out of character here, but what you have to consider is that, not only have they been working together for two years since we last saw them, they've been through a lot in those two years, so I'm taking some liberties under the rationalization that their relationship is not the same as it was. Second, I'm not sure why, but I really feel like Mike is a White Sox fan. I don't think it's from canon. I'm pretty sure I just read it in a fanfic at some point, but really, who knows?


	2. The Monster Takes Flight

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. I really appreciated hearing what everyone thought. You guys are awesome!

I had every intention of getting this chapter up mid-last week, but events in real life conspired to keep me away from my computer. There was a five-day stretch where I didn't even turn it on. Anyway, here's the next chapter.

* * *

The police were already at the restaurant when Mike arrived, and he immediately felt immense gratitude toward whoever had the presence of mind to call them, because he was willing to bet it hadn't been his brother or sister-in-law. David had never been especially good under pressure, one of the reasons litigation had turned out not to be his cup of tea, and Amy, well she was very intelligent but more than a little scatter-brained.

"Mike Cutter?" a woman's voice called as he stepped through the door. A brunette woman was making her way through the crowd. "Detective Olivia Benson, Special Victims Unit. I've been assigned to the case."

"Great," Mike said as his eyes skimmed the crowd. "Where's my brother?"

"He's in the private dining room. Right this way," Detective Benson started back through the crowd. "How long ago did you leave the restaurant?"

"Um, about… forty minutes?" he answered distractedly.

"And you definitely saw Elizabeth before you left?" she continued.

"Yes," Mike replied. "She was at the table playing tic-tac-toe with David."

They stopped at a door at the back of the dining room. Detective Benson pushed it open.

"Mike!" Amy flew at him with such force that he nearly fell over backwards. "You know people at the police station. You've handled cases like this before. We'll get her back, right?"

Mike glanced over her shoulder at his brother. David was seated at a nearby table, his head in his hands, while the boys, seemingly unaware that anything was wrong, played with their Gameboys. "The police are doing everything they can," Mike assured her as she backed away, wiping her eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Detective Benson back out of the room and close the door silently behind her.

"How long has she been gone," Mike asked, taking a seat beside David and looking back and forth between him and his wife. "What happened? David, what happened?"

"It was about thirty minutes ago," Amy began tearfully. "We were getting ready to leave. The boys had to go to the bathroom…" she trailed off as another wave of sobs overcame her.

"I told her to take them, I'd get the check," David continued, speaking for the first time. Mike was taken aback by the difference in his brother's appearance since he had left the restaurant with Connie nearly three quarters of an hour ago. His button-down shirt was wrinkled and his hair looked as if he's just been come in from a wind storm. Based on his appearance, Mike wouldn't have guess he'd slept the previous night, which he knew was not the case, seeing as how he and Connie had been treated during dinner to an explanation about how they hadn't gone to the Statue of Liberty that morning because they'd overslept an hour. "I was talking to Elizabeth. We were talking about taxis. She wanted to take one. I turned to pay the check. I asked her a question but she didn't answer, and when I turned around she was gone."

"Mr. Cutter?" Mike and David both turned to look at the door. A different woman, a blond one, was standing in the doorway.

"Detective Rollins," David nodded.

"I need to get a description from you," she stated in a Southern accent that caught Mike off guard as she closed the door and chose a seat across from David.

"But we already gave you the picture," Amy said, confused. Detective Rollins turned to look at her.

"We need to know what Elizabeth was wearing," she explained.

"A white shirt," David began. "A pink sweatshirt."

"She had on jeans," Amy added. "With a green belt I got her for her birthday. She'd been wanting a belt for months." She promptly dissolved into tears again.

"How was her hair?" Detective Rollins asked, scribbling onto a notepad.

"It was in braids," David answered. "Two of them, tied with pink hairbands."

Detective Rollins nodded. "Is there anything else you can remember?"

As David and Amy looked at each other miserably and shook their heads, Rollins stood up, pushed her pen and notepad into her back pocket, and exited the way she'd entered, unnoticed. Mike had to admire her and Benson. This was not a job he could do, nor one he would ever want. He dealt with enough mourning relatives in his own department; that wasn't the issue. When homicide was called in, when someone was tried for murder, everyone knew the victim was dead. There was almost always a body to prove it. In SVU, they didn't know. Sometimes they went weeks without knowing. These detectives had to be experts on striking a balance between giving the family hope, but making sure they knew the reality of the situation. Mike had been in the DA's office long enough to know that for most families, their loved one was alive until proven otherwise. However, no matter what the police said, after twenty-four hours, the victim was most likely dead, and he'd worked with SVU prosecutors enough to know that they agreed. Mike wasn't sure he would have been able to handle the difference in perspectives.

His phone was ringing, he realized suddenly. He wasn't sure for how long, but David and Amy were both staring at him. He pulled it from the breast pocket of his jacket and checked the caller ID: Connie Rubirosa.

"Connie," said as he put the phone to his ear.

"Mike," she replied. "I heard NYPD had been dispatched to the restaurant. Lupo seemed to think it had something to do with you. What's going on?"

Mike sighed heavily and glanced at David and Amy. They were still watching him carefully. They didn't need to hear this conversation. He stood up and followed Detective Rollins through the door.

"Mike, you still there?" Connie was asking.

"Yeah," he answered. "Sorry. Listen, Connie, my niece is gone."

There was a pause before Connie spoke again. "What, you mean gone like…"

"Like disappeared," Mike finished. "We don't know where she is."

"Oh my god, Mike," she said. "What happened."

"My brother turned his back to pay the bill," Mike explained. "She vanished."

"She's not anywhere in the restaurant?" Mike could hear the concern blossoming in her voice.

"NYPD's been searching for twenty minutes now," he replied. "And it's not that big a restaurant."

"Do you want me to come back down there?" the shuffling Mike was hearing on the other end of the line indicated that she was probably going to be joining him very soon, whether he wanted her to or not, not that he didn't want her to.

"They're going to be taking us down to the station to formally take our statements," he answered. "Just meet me there."

"They're taking you too?" she asked. "But we were already gone. You can't have seen anything, nothing that's useful at this stage in the investigation, anyway."

Mike hesitated. "Connie," he took a deep breath. "They still haven't eliminated me as a suspect."

"You?" she exclaimed. "Why?"

"Come on, you know how these things work," he answered. "Just because Amy and David think I left the restaurant with you doesn't mean I actually did. For all they know, I could have been lying in wait."

"Right," she replied. Mike could almost hear the gears turning. "But you were with me."

"And you'll tell them that when you get to the station," he said. "You'll tell them we were a twenty minute walk away, the video camera in your lobby will confirm it, and that will be the end of it."

"You know," she replied. "I never thought I'd have to be an alibi witness, least of all, for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, feigning incredulousness.

She laughed. "I just meant that I never thought you'd need one."

"Well, there is a first time for everything," he sighed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "And I guess I never thought I'd be a co-conspirator in a murder either. Well, I'll be down at the station in half an hour."

"Alright," Mike said, the ghost relief he'd enjoyed as they'd shared the joke, departing. "I'll see you there."

Who was that?" David asked as he reentered the room, pushing the phone back into his pocket.

"Connie," Mike replied. "She heard about what happened through one of the detectives we work with. She's meeting us at the station. They're going to be taking us there to get our statements."

"Why is she meeting us?" Amy asked, turning her attention from the boys, still engrossed in their video games, to him. "Did she see something?"

Mike shook his head. "In these types of investigations, everyone is a suspect until they can be ruled out. Amy, you were seen in the restroom when Elizabeth was taken, and David, the hostess has confirmed that you were paying the bill. You both think that I left before she disappeared, but they have no way of knowing if that's what actually happened. I could have pretended to leave to throw suspicion off myself and then waited out of sight until you turned your back. Connie's going to corroborate my claim that I was blocks away at the time."

"They would suspect you?" David asked. "But we saw you leave. You're her uncle."

"I've seen worse," Mike replied. "So have they. It wouldn't come as much of a shock to them. Children are actually much more likely to be abducted by someone they know." David placed his head in his hands. "You're a contract attorney," Mike explained. "Things are different in criminal court."

"No wonder you've always been so cynical," he muttered without looking up.

"Whatever idealism I had left went out the window my first day on the job," Mike agreed, remembering his first interview with a victim. It had been an elderly couple who had taken in their grandson after his release from prison. They'd woken up the next morning to find him gone, along with their television and family heirlooms. Mike had gone home that evening and cried, not that he'd ever admit to it.

The door opened once more, and Detective Benson poked her head through. "I'm sorry to bother you again," she said. "But would you mind coming down to the station so we can formally take your statements?"

* * *

A/N: I don't think this chapter is quite as strong as the last-it felt kind of choppy to me-but let me know what you think. I've been getting some very constructive reviews for this fic. I try to respond to all of them, and I take everything people say into account while I'm writing, so keep it coming.


	3. A Whole New Beast

A/N: Hey guys! I'm continuing to get some fantastic reviews, so thanks for that. I've never seen a fandom that's so collectively constructive and insightful. You guys are awesome! Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

It was different, being on this side of the table. Mike was sitting in a room identical to the ones at the two-seven, where he'd ordered the arrests of many suspects, negotiated countless plea bargains, but it looked completely different from this angle. He'd never noticed how dark these room was; the chair wobbled, and the only thing he could do to occupy himself was stare at the two-way mirror and wonder who was watching him. He wondered if they'd contacted Connie to verify his alibi yet, or if he was still a person of interest.

Across the table, Detective Benson finally finished rifling through her papers and looked up at him. "Mr. Cutter, you claim you left the restaurant twenty minutes before your niece was abducted. Is that correct?"

"It is," Mike nodded.

"And after you received the call from your brother, you didn't return to the restaurant for almost another twenty minutes," she stated. "Why is that?"

"I was a twenty minute walk away," Mike replied simply. "I took the subway back, but I had to wait for a train."

"Right," Benson looked back at her notes. "And you left with…" she flipped a page.

"Connie Rubirosa," Mike said. "Consuela. She can verify that I was with her from the time I left the restaurant to when I got the call that Elizabeth was gone."

"She backed you up," Benson informed him. "She's with my colleague as we speak. She's also admitted that the two of you have had contact since your niece disappeared."

"We did," Mike answered. "She called me shortly after I arrived back at the restaurant. She'd heard the police had been dispatched. I guess my name came up at the precinct. She wanted to know what had happened."

"Did you discuss your alibi at all?" Benson asked.

"We did," he admitted. "I mentioned to her that I was being taken here to give a formal statement. She wanted to know why I was going, since we had already left. I told her my alibi hadn't been verified yet, and I was still a suspect."

"But, as a prosecutor, didn't you know that conversation would make your alibi worthless?" Benson seemed genuinely interested now.

"It would have," Mike explained. "Except that there's a surveillance camera in Connie's lobby. It points out toward the street. We'll be visible on it."

Benson made a note. "We'll check it out. In the meantime, did you see any suspicious activity as you were leaving the restaurant? Anyone hanging around outside? Anything like that?"

Mike wracked his memory. "No one stood out at the time."

Benson shuffled through her jacket before pulling a card out of her pocket. "Let me know if you remember anything," she instructed as she slid it across the table. She stood up. "You're free to go. We'll be looking into that alibi."

"I wouldn't respect you if you didn't," Mike called as she left the room. He stood up, pulled his coat off the back of the chair, and followed the detective from the room.

When he stepped back into the bullpen, he could hear Benson's voice somewhere to his right. She was hunched over the desk of a young male detective going over something. He glanced at his watch. He'd only been in that room for twenty-five minutes. David and Amy wouldn't be finished for at least another fifteen.

"Mike!" he heard from behind him. Connie was seated in a chair beside the door to his interrogation room. He must have walked right past her.

"I thought you were still in with a detective," he said as she approached him.

She shook her head and nodded to the detective Benson was speaking with. "Detective Amaro finished with me a few minutes ago. I can't believe this is happening."

"Tell me about it," Mike muttered.

Connie was about to reply when there was a loud crash from the other side of the room. He and Connie immediately looked up, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Benson and Amaro do the same. Rollins was profusely apologizing to an annoyed-looking detective sitting at a desk near the elevator surrounded by spilled files while attempting to make her way to her superior as quickly as possible.

"They found these at the scene," she was holding up a small evidence bag. Mike squinted to make out its contents.

"What is it," Benson asked as Rollins continued to fight her way through the sea of desks. Finally, she came to a stop at the other side of Amaro's desk.

"Two pink hairbands," Rollins replied. "They were sitting on the counter near where David Cutter was standing with Elizabeth." Mike's stomach dropped, and he could see Connie's eyes widen. Detective Benson, however, did not seem to understand.

"Why is that important?" she asked.

Rollins rushed to explain. "When I was taking her description, David Cutter said her hair was in braids tied with two pink hairbands." Realization was dawning on Detective Benson's face.

"He's back."

Suddenly, everyone was staring at Mike. "I assume the DA's office knows about, what the media's calling, the butterfly clip killer?"

Benson was studying him, but he was finding himself unable to form coherent thoughts. Finally he heard Connie reply solemnly, "Yes. Jack McCoy once told Mike and I… that when the case finally came across his desk, it would be ours." She glanced at him. "Needless to say, that's no longer the case." Although she'd directed the statement to the detectives, Mike could tell it had been intended for him. _You're not coming within a hundred feet of this case_. Well, he didn't care much at the moment. The fact that a conviction on this case would have fast-tracked him to the DA's office for sure was the farthest thing from his mind.

"Have the parents identify those," Benson was telling Rollins. "We don't want to get worked up over nothing. I'm sure there are lots of little girls in this city who own pink hairbands. I don't was to find out in two days that he actually meant barrettes or something."

"Where's my brother?" he finally asked. "I need to talk to him. I should be the one to tell him."

Detective Benson glanced at her watch. "He should be out of his interview in about five minutes." She turned back to Amaro and Rollins. "In the meantime, we need to get the file sent to homicide. They've been looking for this guy for years. They're in a better position to handle this than we are…"

Mike was no longer listening. He'd turned back to the interrogation rooms and, unnoticed by the detectives, was starting toward the one he knew David was in. Suddenly, he felt someone grab his arm. Connie had reached out to stop him. "Mike," she said softly. "What are you doing?"

"I have to tell David," he answered. "He needs to know."

"You heard Benson. He's still being interviewed," she reminded him.

Mike shook his head. "I doesn't matter. We know who took Elizabeth. He deserves to know. He should have been the first to find out."

"Say you burst in there right now and tell him," Connie argued. "What's that going to do? So he'll know five minutes earlier. Who's that going to help? Listen Mike, I get what you're saying. I agree, the fact that we found out before he did is far from ideal, but you have to think about what you're doing."

Mike studied her worried expression for a moment before sighing. "You're right."

Relief flashed over Connie's face. "Let's just sit down, okay?" She directed him to the chair she'd been sitting in before. "I think I saw a coffee machine on the way in. Can I get you some?" Mike nodded.

As he watched her hurry through the bullpen toward the doorway on the other side, he took a moment to reflect on how the tables had turned. Not two hours ago, she'd been thanking him for keeping her on her feet. Now, he was waiting helplessly while she found him a cup of coffee. He didn't know what he'd do without her. He would have busted into that interrogation room for sure. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. She was absolutely right. The interruption certainly wouldn't have helped the investigation. If anything, it would have impeded it. He was thankful for her levelheadedness, her logic. At least now, David would have a few more moments of hope before he found out how grave the situation had become.

Connie appeared back around the corner, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. "They're still in there?" she asked as she approached.

"They haven't come out," Mike replied. "I don't know why. It must have been at least ten minutes."

"It's been three," Connie corrected as she knelt down beside him and handed him the Styrofoam cup. Immediately she looked guilty. Mike suspected it had slipped out before she'd been able to stop herself. It happened to him all the time. In any case, he was grateful for her honesty. He'd always been able to tell when people were walking on eggshells around him, and it annoyed him to no end.

Just as she'd finished speaking, the door swung open. David emerged, followed by a grey-haired detective. He stopped at looked around for a moment, before spotting Mike and Connie and made a beeline for them. "Did you get everything cleared up?"

There was a pause before Connie answered, "Almost." She was trying her best to sound optimistic, Mike could tell, but his own devastation must have been apparent.

"Mike, what's wrong?" David asked as he stopped beside the chair. "Is it about Elizabeth?"

Mike sighed and stood up. "David," he hesitated. "They found something."

* * *

A/N: I'm going to be on vacation next week, and I haven't even decided if I'm taking my computer yet, so there's likely going to be a delay before I get the next chapter up. I'm also probably going to be delayed in responding to any reviews I get after Thursday.

As a side note, these past two chapters have been very case-heavy, and while that is obviously an important element of this story, the next chapter will be more in the vain of the first.


	4. Switching Roles

A/N: Hey, guys. So, as you may have guessed because of the month delay, this was a really difficult chapter to write. It just wouldn't come out. The fact that I've had my wisdom teeth out, moved, and started school all in the last month didn't help either. Anyway, hopefully it was worth the wait. Sorry about that.

* * *

It was the portion of Mike's brain that still cared about Connie's wellbeing more than his own that directed him to a restaurant from the precinct, rather than a bar. Being honest with himself, there was nothing he would rather have done than make this entire evening disappear with a couple of strong drinks, but he knew Connie would follow him, and there was no way he was going to make her watch as he did the one thing he'd spent the last year trying to prevent her from doing. The French fries Connie had ordered for him were a poor substitute, but he was eating them in the hopes that it would lessen her concern.

At first, Mike had been annoyed at the prospect of being supervised all evening. This was probably exactly how Connie had felt, he reasoned, those first few months after he'd found her at that bar, when he'd insisted on taking her to dinner after work every evening and dropping her off at home afterwards, just to make sure she didn't go out and drink. She was returning the favor, he realized, paying off a debt on which he hadn't intended to collect. Now that they'd been sitting at the restaurant for three-and-a-half reruns of _Friends_, he was becoming grateful for her company, even though they'd hardly said three words to each other since arriving. Her presence was comforting. He set down the fry he'd been nibbling and look across the table at her.

"Are you finished?" she asked, frowning. "You barely ate half of them."

"We've been here almost two hours," he replied. "I've eaten all I can."

She sighed. "Ready to go then?" He could hear the exasperation and worry in her voice.

Mike hesitated. The sun had long since disappeared behind the high rises of the west side, and the restaurant was bright and filled with people, but he knew Connie would insist on walking him home regardless of when they left, and when he thought about it that way, the earlier, the better. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"Are you coming into work tomorrow?" Connie asked as they stepped into the cool night air. "I'll cover for you with Jack if you want to be with your family."

"We have to be in court at eleven," he reminded her. "Besides, there's nothing more I can do." He didn't have to finish. He knew she'd heard the implication. He'd left early. He hadn't been there. He'd done enough already.

"Mike, you know—"

"I couldn't have known," he answered.

"It's true," she replied. "This wasn't your fault. Don't punish yourself."

"When you've had a niece abducted by a prolific serial killer, then you can tell me how to feel," his tone was cutting, and he wanted to take it back as soon as he'd finished. She dropped her gaze, hurt. "I'm sorry," he hurried to add. "I know you're just trying to help."

"You're tired," Connie met his eyes and he knew he'd been forgiven. "It's been I long evening." Mike silently agreed. He was fighting to keep his eyes open. It was a good thing they were near his apartment, because he would definitely have fallen asleep in a cab, and it was all he could do not to laugh, picturing her trying to drag him up two flights of stairs to his door.

"It looks like rain tomorrow," Connie stated off-handedly as they walked.

"How appropriate," Mike replied dryly. He paused. "Did you know he kept Olivia Nealon alive for eleven days before he killed her?"

Connie was quiet for a moment. He could hear her sharp intake of breath, and he could almost feel the gears turning as she decided how to answer. "You know that I do."

"She was ten years old," he continued. "The things he did to her…"

The street was noisy, but the silence between them was almost tangible. Mike had realized back at the precinct that Elizabeth may never be found alive, but the other implications of her capture, the terrible things that were probably being done to her right now, were just beginning to dawn on him.

"Hannah Bianchi was only seven," Connie suddenly said.

"What?" Mike asked, taken aback. He'd expected her to listen, to indulge him in his morbid thoughts, but he'd never expected her to participate.

"His sixth victim," she reminded him. "The one who was snatched on her way home from school last April."

"What was a seven-year-old doing walking home from school by herself," Mike wondered.

"She wasn't" Connie replied. "She was with four other kids, most of them older."

Mike shook his head. "It's been a while since I read the case file."

"The oldest," she paused to think. "Matt Dillon. He lived the closest. A couple of them ran the two blocks to his house to get help, but when they got back, she was already gone."

"He grabbed her in front of all those kids?" Mike furrowed his eyebrows. "And we don't have a description?"

"They said he wore a baseball cap pulled low over his face," Connie shrugged. "Not much to see." He ran his fingers through his hair in dismay. "I'd tell you not to worry…" she trailed off. _Except that there actually is something to worry about._ "It's not hopeless," she added. "There were two dozen people in that restaurant. Someone must have seen something. And at least…" she hesitated. "At least we know we've got a couple days." She looked nervously up at him before continuing. "I mean, he always keeps them alive for about a week."

Mike squeezed his eyes shut. She'd managed to bring up the one thing he'd been trying not to think about. "Is that really such a good thing?" he asked, his voice so quiet he wasn't even sure Connie would hear. "Think about what he does to them."

"I know," Connie answered. "But at least she'd be alive."

"They used to call it the fate worse than death," Mike pointed out.

Connie sighed. "They don't anymore. Mike, think about what you're saying."

"I don't want her dead," Mike explained hastily. "I want to find her alive, I want it more than anything, but assuming we don't…when we find her body, I'd rather learn that she died quickly and painlessly." It sounded callous, Mike was aware. Years of looking at crime scene photos, of dealing with these kind of criminals and these kind of victims, had done that to him. He envied Connie, who had been in the field nearly eleven years and had managed to retain a touch of the naïveté and idealism he remembered in his law school classmates. It was one of the things he'd always admired her for, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He couldn't even remember looking at the world that way. Of course, absent a father for half of his childhood, he'd grown up a little faster than most of the boys he knew, and maybe that was a part of it. Connie's way of looking at life, halfway between himself and his ten-year-old niece, was like a breath of fresh air.

"I understand," she replied softly, placing a hand on his arm. She cast him a reassuring smile. He remembered back to earlier that day, how lucky he'd felt to be with her, not just to be seen with her, but to know her. His biggest problem had been the prospect of accidently saying something inappropriate. How things had changed in the space of a day. He noticed that she hadn't removed her hand, but noticing was the extent of his reaction. This afternoon he would have been over the moon. Now it was merely a passing thought. He longed for this afternoon.

Connie did not allow her hand to drop back to her side until they had arrived outside Mike's apartment. "You'll be okay tonight?" he asked. If she left now, this would mark the first time she'd seen herself home since the evening she'd passed downtown. She would walk directly past six bars. He knew because he'd counted as he took her back to her apartment the next morning.

"I should be asking you that," Connie replied. Mike stared at her, as if searching her eyes for the answer to his question. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she finally assured him. "How about you? If you don't want to be alone, that's fine," she laughed bitterly. "It's not like I've never slept on your couch before."

Mike couldn't help himself. "Actually you've never slept on my couch. I slept on my couch. You had the bed, remember?"

"I don't," she retorted. "I was passed out, _remember_?"

"I couldn't possibly forget," his tone was serious again. It wasn't for lack of trying, but up until today, he'd never been more terrified than when he'd spotted her haphazardly perched atop that bar stool, slumped over the counter.

"Well, I wouldn't dream of stealing your bed from you tonight," Connie said in an attempt to lighten the mood again. "If you want me to stay, I mean."

It occurred to Mike that all he had to do was say a word and he would be able to enjoy her company all night. Heaven knew he wasn't sleeping. If he really, really wanted her, this was his chance, maybe his only chance. He shook the thought from his head. He couldn't use her kindness like that. He wouldn't. She was his friend. Besides, sex wasn't what he wanted, not really. Not to mention they worked together—he was her superior—and even if all she did was spend the night his the couch, it would be too much. They would be crossing just another line that, despite himself, Mike knew they shouldn't cross.

"I'm fine," he answered. "I'll be okay. Thanks."

She hesitated, but finally seemed to take his word for it. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow morning then. You know you can call me if you need anything," she smiled sadly. "I know I've called you at some pretty atrocious hours."

"I will," he nodded. "See you tomorrow."

She turned and shoved her hands into her pockets as she began to walk. Mike stood at the bottom of the stairs watching her retreating figure. With a last look back at him, Connie rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

* * *

A/N: We're back to the facts of the case next chapter. Hopefully I'll have it up kind of soon. However, as you may or may not know, I'm running two fics simultaneously (which was such a smart idea), and that one it equally as neglected, so I'll have to tackle that first.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed. Please review and let me know. I'll see you all next chapter!


	5. Evilution

Hey, guys! So, funny story. I totally thought I posted this chapter like, two months ago. I guess I finished it and then saved it to proofread later, but then I forgot that I never proofread and posted it, so I was sitting at work today going through my fanfiction folders when I reread this chapter and realized it wasn't proofread. So sorry about that. As a consolation for those of you who return after this unfortunate and unintentional three-month hiatus, I promise to have another chapter up by Christmas. I'll even try for two. I have two papers due next Friday, so the next chapter will probably go up sometime the week after. Anyway, sorry about that.

* * *

Connie had never seen the police station quite this early in the morning. The sunrise cast an orange glow over the rows of desks. She could see the glint of the skyline through the windows. It was eerie almost, like something out of an old movie, everything tinted slightly sepia. In the far corner, Lupo and Bernard were hunched over a desk, Lupo muttering something unintelligible. They appeared fixed to the spot, and Connie fleetingly wondered if either of them had even bothered to go home since the case file came across their desks.

Lupo leaned back away from the desk and caught a glimpse of her over his shoulder. "Morning, counselor. Hope you brought breakfast."

"Sorry guys," Connie replied as she approached the desk. "I stopped for something on the way here."

Bernard sighed. "Oh well, pull up a seat. We were just going over the file."

"I see that," she gestured at the papers spread across the desk. "How long have you guys been here?"

"Oh," Lupo looked at his watch. "Two, three hours."

"Four tops," Bernard added.

"Where do you want to start, counselor?" Lupo asked, gathering the papers into a pile.

Connie pulled a chair from a neighboring desk and settled into it. "From the beginning is fine."

"Okay," Lupo said. "April 17, 2009, Jessica Ryan disappeared from the street in front of her apartment building while her mother was inside making lunch. Her body was found on April 26 under a bridge in Central Park. The ME estimated she'd been dead about twenty-four hours. There was evidence of physical abuse and sexual assault. We found DNA under her fingernails, but it didn't match anything we had on file."

Lupo flipped through a couple of photos, of the street where she was taken, of the area where her body was found, of the body itself. "Megan Browning, she was last seen in Central Park on October 3. She was there with her nanny. We found the body on October 11. She was in another part of the park. She'd already been dead two days. There was no physical evidence on the body this time."

"He learned from his mistakes," Bernard interjected. "Working out the kinks." He flipped through another few pages. "March 22, 2010, Samantha Tomlin goes missing from outside a convenience store restroom, where she was waiting for her mother and brother. A cyclist found her in the park on April 2."

"That was the first time he took a girl from inside a building," Connie commented.

Bernard nodded. "He was getting braver."

"Kaitlyn Donovan was snatched from a public pool where she and her sister were swimming on July 10," Lupo continued. "He dumped her in the lake. Probably trying to keep us from finding her. He didn't weigh her down though. She floated to the surface and was spotted on the 22nd. A witness saw her leave the pool with a man in a grey delivery uniform. They weren't close enough to tell what company it was."

"Of course," Connie sighed.

"December 14, Olivia Nealon disappeared from a toy store," Bernard began.

Connie shook her head. "Christmas shopping."

"Yeah, that would have been too good to be true," Bernard replied. "We found her on December 30. She was buried in the snow. A shop across the street had security footage, but you can't see much. There was this big, white van in the way."

"Just our luck," Lupo commented. "April 3, 2010, Hannah Bianchi went missing on her way home from school. He took her out of a group of six kids. A jogger found the body on the 13th, the day after she died, according to the ME. At seven, Hannah was the youngest victim."

"This is an interesting one," Bernard flipped to the next incident. "Kayla Cavano and Lauren Harte went missing on their way home from school on August 25. At first, we thought it was a copy cat. Lauren was dumped in the park on the 28th. We found her the same day. Kayla's body didn't turn up until September 6. They were on their way to Kayla's house when they were snatched. We think she was the target. Lauren was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Was their any evidence of sexual assault?" Connie asked.

"On Lauren? No," Bernard answered. "She was beat up pretty bad, but no sexual assault."

"He was after Kayla," Lupo replied grimly. "He didn't want Lauren." He sighed and flipped a couple of pages. "February 15, 2012—I know, big gap—Hailey Rayner disappeared from a department store. We found her on the 25th, buried under the snow."

"Again," Connie commented.

"Why not? It worked the first time. Took us an extra three days to find Olivia Nealon."

"Unfortunately for him, the snow covering Hailey melted," Lupo said.

"And then we're up to Elizabeth Cutter," Bernard stated, turning to Connie.

She shook her head. "We've got nothing."

"Hey," Lupo replied. "We've got DNA and a delivery uniform."

"How many men in delivery uniforms are there in Manhattan?" Connie asked. "It's not like we can go around collecting DNA from all of them until we find a match." She dropped her head to her hands. "What am I going to tell Mike?"

"The truth," Bernard answered. "That we won't rest—none of us—until we have this son of a bitch behind bars."

* * *

So there's your background on the Butterfly Clip Killer. I wish I had a longer, more exciting chapter to return with, but this one needed to be written.


	6. A Lead Among Many

So, here's the next one. It turns out I had more time this week to write than I thought I was going to. This chapter is a lot longer than the last one too, so there's that. I said I'd try to get another two chapters up by Christmas, and that's looking pretty likely, so I'm going to go ahead and hold myself to that.

* * *

Connie had only been in Mike's apartment once before, and the circumstances had been far from ideal. This time, they were even worse. She hadn't been surprised when Lupo told her they needed to interview David Cutter again, nor had she been surprised when he added that they weren't making him come down to the station. She had been surprised, however, when Bernard mentioned that Mike's apartment was where the interview would take place. Now that she thought about it, of course it was obvious. David and his family were still sleeping in the hotel—there just wasn't room at Mike's for four overnight guests—but why would they also be staying there during the day when family was so close by?

It wasn't until Bernard knocked on the door that Connie realized she and Mike would have to do a damn good job pretending she'd never been here before. It wouldn't be hard—she barely remembered her stay, and she was sure Mike wouldn't bring it up, but any semblance of familiarity, even sitting down on the couch without being given permission, could be a tip-off. She was sure Lupo and Bernard would pick up on it. They were detectives after all, and she could tell they'd been getting increasingly suspicious of her relationship with Mike in the past few months. She hadn't intended for them to appear overly comfortable with each other in front of their colleagues, but, somehow, it had happened. It wasn't that there was anything inappropriate about their relationship. They were friends, close friends, they'd never slept together, but given her, now very public track record, Connie knew what people would assume, what, in all likelihood, they probably did assume, and that wouldn't be any better for Mike's career than hers. What's more, the circumstances under which the relationship had been cultivated were not exactly kosher, and people would wonder—well, they probably already did wonder—why they had suddenly become so close.

Mike answered the door looking much more disheveled than usual in a sweatshirt and jeans. Despite their friendship, Connie hadn't seen him in much of anything other than a suit. Even when he picked her up at night, he'd usually still been wearing his suit, and she couldn't really remember a lot of those car trips anyway. The change caught her off guard, but it was Saturday, after all. Mike usually worked on Saturdays, but given the situation, she could hardly blame him for deciding not to go in. "Detectives," he greeted. "Connie. Come in. Feel free to have a seat anywhere."

Connie followed Lupo and Bernard into Mike's living room and took a seat on the couch across from the chair over which Lupo was hanging his coat. "David should be out in a minute," Mike informed them. "Can I get anyone anything to drink?"

It was different seeing him in this context: the no-nonsense, hard-ass prosecutor playing host. He'd been like this the morning she'd woken up at his apartment too, but Connie had assumed it was because she'd been more than a little hung over and he'd been worried they wouldn't make it to work on time.

"We're fine, Counselor," Bernard assured him. Mike nodded and walked around the counter to drop onto the couch at the opposite end from Connie. She breathed a sigh of relief. Of course Mike knew they couldn't appear too close. He wasn't stupid. She'd been worried for nothing.

A door opened behind them. "Detectives."

David closed the door behind himself and joined them in the living room. "Mr. Cutter," Lupo rose to his feet and held out a hand. Bernard and Connie followed suit. "We're sorry to bother you again."

"No," David shook his head and took the seat on the couch between Mike and Connie. "I want to help in any way I can."

"We just need to ask a few more questions about the circumstances under which Elizabeth disappeared," Bernard explained. "How many people knew you were going to be in New York this week?

"Um," David thought for a moment. "My boss, Harlan Murphy, and a couple of the people at work."

"Can you be specific?" Bernard interrupted.

"Greg Matthews, Josie Ryan, and Derrick Sloane," David replied. "Our babysitter, Muriel Cowley, she lives next-door. Maybe a couple of Amy's friends."

Lupo scribbled for a moment and then looked up from his notepad. "Would any of them have a reason to want to hurt you?" he asked.

"No," David replied quickly.

"Amy doesn't have any enemies?" Bernard prompted.

"No, no one," he insisted.

Mike shot Connie an inquisitive look. She knew exactly what he was wondering. _Why are they asking these questions? They know who took Elizabeth. It was random._ Of course, if he had been on top of his mental faculties the way he normally was during a case, he would have realized that every possibility had to be investigated. The pink hair band could just be some terrible coincidence.

"Did you notice anyone suspicious near the restaurant?" Lupo was asking. "Maybe someone hanging around outside. Someone who seemed particularly interested in Elizabeth."

David dropped his head into his hands and sighed. "Not that I can remember." He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "There was a man. He was standing across the street looking into the restaurant. I didn't pay him much attention. I thought he was homeless."

"David, this is important," Bernard said, leaning forward. "Was this man still standing across the street after Elizabeth went missing?"

"I don't know," he replied. "There was…there was this van in the way. I couldn't see anything across the street."

Connie saw Lupo and Bernard exchange a significant glance. None of them had considered the white van at the scene of Olivia Nealon's disappearance as a possible lead. "Where was this van parked?"

"Right out in front of the restaurant," David replied. "It was a big white van. At the time I assumed it was a delivery van, but there was nothing written on it. I don't know. I wasn't thinking."

"Hey man," Bernard said. "That's okay. This is not your fault."

"Mr. Cutter," Lupo said, standing. "Thank you, you've been very helpful." Bernard followed suit, and they headed toward the door. "Counselor, are you coming?"

It took Connie a second to decide whether or not to go with them. On the one hand, she knew it would look suspicious if she stayed behind. On the other, she wanted to talk to Mike. She needed to. "I'm going to stick around and update Mike on the case," she replied, pushing herself to her feet.

Lupo eyed her for a moment, while Bernard glanced back and forth between her and Mike. "Okay," he finally said. "Well, when you're done, you know where to find us."

Connie nodded as they filed through the door of the apartment. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Mike get to his feet as well. "Is this something he should hear?" he whispered, casting a glance as David.

Connie shook her head. "Nothing solid, could just be a coincidence."

Mike nodded. "David," he turned back to his brother. "Do you want to go back and be with Amy and the boys?"

David nodded wordlessly, getting up from the couch. Slowly, he retreated back into the bedroom. Mike watched him leave before turning back to her. "What is it?"

"The white van David mentioned," Connie answered. "One like it was caught on tape where one of the other victims disappeared." She saw Mike's face drop at the word, victim, but he recovered quickly. She hadn't meant to use that term in front of his. It was tactless.

"That's it?" he asked. "Jesus, Connie, do you know how many white vans there are in this city?"

Connie sighed. "I know, Mike, but at least it's something, which is more than we had before." She hadn't meant to tell him that either. It was just too easy with him, to fall back into the rhythm of emotionlessly discussing cases, but this wasn't just any case for him. It wasn't for either of them.

Mike nodded and dropped his gaze. "I know." He shook his head. "I don't mean to take this out on you." Connie smiled sadly and nodded. "Hell," he continued. "If it wasn't for you, I'd still be a suspect. I'd probably have had my apartment searched by now."

She shook her head. "No one ever actually thought it was you." Mike said nothing as he moved from the living room to the kitchen area. "Listen," Connie sighed, following him. "I don't know how much of a consolation this will be, but we really are doing everything we can. If she can be found, we'll find her."

Mike looked up at her and studied her face for a long moment. His gaze was so intense that, for a moment, she considered asking him if he could actually see into her soul through her eyes, but finally, he looked back down into the sink in front of him. "How are you doing?"

That was about the last question Connie had expected. "Mike, this is hardly the time to be worrying about me."

"Have you been getting enough sleep?" he continued.

"Yes," she replied, exasperated. "And no, I haven't had anything to drink. I'm touched by your concern, Mike, but really."

Mike opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to rethink his words and closed it. He hesitated and tried again. "I can't help it, Connie. You're as close as family to me." He shifted his eyes back to her face to gage her reaction. "I care about you."

* * *

I don't know if I've said this before, but you guys are definitely my favorite fandom that I've ever written for. Your reviews are always so articulate and well-thought out. Keep it up. I love you all. As a reminder, I do try to reply to all my reviews, unless you think that's creepy, in which case, I'll stop. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. The review box is right there. Get to it!


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